


National Anthem

by weekendsareforwhiskey



Series: Born to Die [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Political AU, okay so I watch a lot of The West Wing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekendsareforwhiskey/pseuds/weekendsareforwhiskey
Summary: “Are the rumors about the president’s affair with her Chief of Staff true?”"What the fuck.""I'm already on it."





	1. National Anthem

“Can I ban fireworks?”

“Yes.”

“I know I have the power to, but  _can_ I?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

“You would take that from the American people? How else would we come together to celebrate our two hundred year old freedom from Britain?”

A particularly loud and bright champagne-colored display filled the sky. The light reflected onto their faces in the dark night. A collective gasp and cheers dotted the riverbank below them.

“What is the first world’s infatuation with blowing up shit in the sky? Pollution in the most obnoxiously loud way possible, but oh _wow_ there’s a fire-y pseudo constellation a mile above our heads let’s just ignore how awful it is for ten seconds.”

“It’s frowned upon to say first world nowadays.”

“As if you’ve ever been concerned with what’s frowned upon.”

“You used to be a lot less bitter about fleeting shiny things like fireworks. I need you to keep that smile up for twenty more minutes. Look as patriotic as possible. America’s watching you.”

“This is going to go on for twenty more minutes?”

“There you go. Very nice touch with the laugh. The show should end in about ten and then you need to mingle for another ten. Maybe you can mention your new idea about a ban on fireworks.”

“I mean the whole premise of fireworks on the fourth is a metaphor for bombs and explosions. ‘Rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air’ and all that morbidity. Yet here we are oohing and ahhing across the nation once the sun sets, under the premise that we’re commemorating our finest lads who fought for our freedom to build a new country from stolen lands. While veterans around the nation suffer from PTSD panic attacks at the first triumphant boom 8pm eastern standard time.”

“Francis Scott Key wrote those lyrics in 1812 you know. Not even written during the time the colonies were created.”

“For once I actually knew some random USA fact you pulled out of nowhere before you told me.”

“Oh is that so? That was a very impressive astonished and delighted face. I’d believe these pseudo constellations were amazing you if I were an average American.”

“Jesus Christ here comes the finale. I’m ‘astonished’ by the fact that this shit still holds people’s attention. I’m sorry, wait, this finale is going to be eight more minutes?”

“I could be wrong on the schedule.”

“You’re never wrong on the schedule. You’re a _liar_.”

“So you may need to mingle for fifteen minutes.”

“Do I at least get to choose who I mingle with?”

“Here’s the list. Don’t look at it too long. Cameras everywhere and we don’t want photos of you looking at a phone during the finale of America’s day of freedom to hit the front page tomorrow.”

“Fuck these guys. Lyanna Mormont is here. I’m spending my fifteen minutes of mingling with her.”

“Lyanna Mormont didn’t donate enough money to your campaign to earn a spot on the Fourth of July Macy’s Mingling list. She’ll be at the Hamptons tomorrow though.”

“We won’t be.”

“Don’t stop smiling. And yes we will.”

“I’m not going to stay in the Hamptons on the tax payers’ dime. Keep that bourgeoisie away from me.”

“You are the epitome of the bourgeoisie no matter how much Engels and Marx you have on your bedroom bookshelf. You haven’t been to an event there for a year. If you don’t go tomorrow you’ll have a lot of expensive gifts to send to the Baratheon bunch.”

“Fuck them.”

“Quit saying fuck in public. People can read lips.”

“They’re all watching the explosives in the sky.”

“Your parents will be there tomorrow. Perfect photo op. The political Stark trio together again.”

“All the more reason not to show up.”

“You’re 37. You’d think you’d have a better relationship with them.”

“How’s your relationship with them?”

“They’re not my parents.”

“A third of why I don’t want to be near them is dependent on your relationship with them…What are you doing?”

His attention had turned to typing out an email on his phone. Thumbs tapping feverishly.

“Having Jeyne cancel for you. We’ll go to the cabin instead. Help you recuperate from this heinous display of fireworks instead of visiting Cersei and her brood.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

He closed his email account and set his phone on his thigh, nonchalantly adding, “This means you have to go to Joffrey’s birthday celebration or you can bet on Cersei fucking you over on every bill you want passed.”

She plastered a fake smile on her face as the last round of fireworks finished. “Fuck.”

“ _Lip readers_. You chose this.”

“Did you already send the email to Jeyne?”

“No.”

“Then don’t. And stop fucking smirking.”

“There's that smile. We’ll make tomorrow worth your while Madame President.”

 

 

It wasn’t the first time that Jon needed to call up Petyr. Petyr who hardly ever left his office, only known to go home to his apartment twice a week. If that. Preferring to work round the clock, sleep on the couch in his office. Relying on the White House showers and a full wardrobe lying just ten feet away from the most famous office in the 50 states. A wardrobe of suits, shirts, and socks made especially for the mornings after nights like this. He yanked his tie off and left it on his desk before knocking on the door to the Oval Office. Jon opened it immediately allowing him a full look at Sansa slumped behind the desk. Papers in neat orderly piles that vastly opposed the mess she was as she tried to balance an American flag on the tip of her finger whilst twisting her chair left and right.

“I fucking told you to stop getting high.”

“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m the leader of the free world.”

“Go to the fucking Residence. Jon we need a discreet doctor this time. Not Qyburn.”

“Why not him? Sure he gives me the creeps but-”

“He’s a Lannister puppet. Now get up and have Jon walk you to the Residence Sansa.”

“Madame President or I’ll find a new Chief of Staff.”

“Madame President get in the Residence's fucking shower before I sell all your secrets to Fox News.”

“You wouldn’t do that. Besides, it was just weed. A cold shower won’t help.”

They were at a standoff. She remained at her desk, swiveling back and forth in her chair, the miniature American flag on the floor below her feet. Jon stood to the right of the doorway. Petyr stepped forward and made his way across the room slowly. 

“Don’t act like I don’t have a count on how much Xanax is in your possession. _I know you_.” His hands came down on the table with a smack, back arched as much as his eyebrows. A frown of disdain on his lips. He could feel Jon’s eyes on him. He may have gotten Petyr because he was the only one allowed to deal with her like this, but her life was still in Jon’s hands at all times. It didn’t dissuade Petyr into backing off of the desk though. “You’re not a college kid living in the dorms. You’re the president of the United States. You are paid by the people and the people don’t take kindly to a president who pops pills and gets high in her spare time while leading the nation.”

It didn’t faze her swiveling. She’d grown immune to his disappointment in moments like this.

“It’s a stressful job. We all have our ways of coping. Don't act like you're innocent of having vices."

“You signed up for it. Besides, that’s what I’m here for: to take care of the stress.”

“You cause the stress.”

Jon coughed from the doorway and Petyr turned his head to see their new guest. He straightened up and smiled tightly.

“Luwin, glad you could be here so quickly. Get some damn activated charcoal in her would you? Just one moment.”

The three watched as he crossed the threshold of power to join Sansa on her side of the desk. She was still decked out in her white and blue floral Dior dress. A conservative affair for a Conservative affair. The primarily Republican charity event that had resulted in this state of disarray. His hands brushed her curled hair aside, one going beneath the left sleeve to pull at the back of the pin he held fast in his other hand at her heart.

“Oh God forbid we get vomit and charcoal on the American flag pin. Or did you just want to feel me up?”

Luwin cleared his throat and gestured to the doors leading outside.

“Madame President I’m going to need you to-”

“Yes I know the drill. Start the water I’ll be in the fucking shower in a minute. Jon would you please keep a trash can near? I don’t want any stains on the carpet. According to history the Kennedy ones were the hardest to clean so they replaced it more than once a month.”

“Let’s not have a repeat of that.”

“Fuck off Petyr. Go do something useful.”

 

 

“Madame President we need you to make a decision.”

“How many women and men were in the submarine?”

“25.”

The room was silent; every eye trained on her. She looked at the map in the Situation Room, showing the area the group of soldiers had been abducted. The paused ransom video with only five women and three men shown.

“We can’t start a war with North Korea over this ma’am,” the National Security Advisor stated. “We were in the wrong here. They were gathering intelligence in hostile waters.”

“Brienne are you suggesting we abandon them and act like we never saw this video?” Sansa’s voice was strained.

“Not at all,” she replied.

“If we ignore them the video will reach the news anyway,” Petyr added.

“We were never going to ignore this video. Our choices are either pay the ransom of our political prisoners or go in and take ours by force, correct?”

“That is correct ma’am.”

“Did they gather any useful intelligence before they were captured?”

“Even if all they gathered was whale calls that’s not the issue at hand Baelish!” General Baratheon’s stoic voice growled from Tarth’s right.

“No one is arguing today,” the President cut Petyr off before he could retort. “Give them the hackers they want. I’m not risking their lives if they’re all still alive.”

“And if only eight of them are alive?” The Chief of Staff asked.

Sansa’s eyes darkened. The cap sleeves showing with her blazer off; tucked on the back of her seat. Her armor was made up of frills and white. Let everyone doubt her because of her outward appearance. Let her wit and wisdom show them looks could be deceiving.

“Then we’ve got another choice to make after those eight make it home.”

 

 

Their meeting was done. Each portion of the staff out to finish whatever tasks Petyr had assigned them after all the debriefing for the end of the day was done. The press conference in the morning was set to discuss the soldiers coming home and the release of the North Korean hackers, with special attention paid to the twenty five soldiers coming home. Petyr rolled his shoulders back and stretched his neck, attempting to ward off the stiffness creeping in. Sansa spoke up from the papers she was reading. The last ones for the day.

“Cersei’s starting a campaign.”

“Of course she is. You went rogue Democrat, while under her mentorship, and now she has to prove she’s better.”

“Rumor is you’re her choice VP.”

“Rumor is you’re engaged to Prince Harry.”

“One can dream that rumors are true.”

“You want me to be Cersei’s vice president?”

“I want a good enough reason to fire you and a way that makes any truth you say about me sound like a lie.”

“I’d never settle for being VP. Especially not for Cersei.”

“I’m not engaged to Harry. When on earth would I have time for that?"

“I know that. I started the rumor.”

“Why?”

“To give you a post-president career option besides a library and a book about eight years.”

“I want more than reelection, a library, and a stupid husband.”

Petyr smirked. “Of course you do.”

“I want a university.”

“Then solve the North Korea problem.”

“I said a university, not a military school.”

“You think brute force is the only way to save North Korea?”

“I think you’re supposed to be thinking of ways to make it look like we want to save North Korea.”

“I thought I was just a glorified secretary and therapist.”

“You’d really never want to be VP? Even if you’d get the chance to be president later on?”

“That chair you’re sitting in doesn’t look too comfortable. Not the right fit for me.”

“Why don’t you try it out?”

She stood and presented it to him with a flourish of her arms. He rolled his eyes. There were a dozen other things he could be doing in that moment instead of dealing with her behavior. He wondered if she was high again.

“I don’t want to be president, Sansa.”

“It’s Madame President.”

“Well you’re not in the chair anymore. I get confused on what I should be calling you.”

“Are you going to take a seat or not?”

He played along. Took a seat. Took in the view for a second then looked up at her.

“We should get you a new one. This really isn’t comfortable at all.”

“Feeling the stress?”

She stepped around the chair. Hands coming to rest on his shoulders before digging in. His head rolled back of its own accord and he sighed.

“Not when you do that.”

“You should give me more shoulder massages instead of reminding me about North Korea.”

“That’s what Harry the stupid future husband is for. Someone has to call you out when you’re being a shitty president. I have to be that-” Her nails dug into his shirt. “Ouch. Too far?”

The tension in his shoulders returned when she stepped away. He didn't miss her touch for long though. A single finger trailed the length of his arm, pausing at the rolled up shirt sleeves where a hint of his tattoos lay. Hidden to everyone, but those closest to him. Since the start of his political career only two had seen the full effect. The only one still alive was continuing her path down to his hand. Her tulle skirt brushed against the chair for a brief second before she stepped in front of him. He moved the chair back and she languidly sat on his lap. Arms wrapped around his neck. Arms wrapped around her torso to keep her balanced.

“You’re right this seat is uncomfortable. Not nearly big enough for the both of us Mister President.”

“That doesn’t do it for me.”

She unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.

“Not even the thought of all that power?”

“Mmm, no.”

Another three slipped out of their fabric holds.

“All of that control?”

“Do you really even have any control?”

His green dress shirt was completely unbuttoned and untucked.

“All the dirty little secrets that no one else will know?”

“The idea of being president doesn’t get me off.”

Her hands slipped beneath his undershirt and she shifted closer on his lap.

“Something’s doing it for you right now.”

“Maybe it's the fact that," he leaned forward to place a kiss by her ear. His mustache drew chills from her when it brushed against her skin. "I already have all of that. Power. Control. Dirty secrets. All thanks to you.”

“We should probably get your pants off before you ruin another pair again.”

 

 

 

The press briefing was drawing to a close. Questions about North Korea dominated the room. Ros called for one last question.

“Are the rumors about the president’s affair with her Chief of Staff true?”

Sansa's eyes widened. “What the fuck.”

“I’m already on it.” Petyr's phone was out. Typing quicker than usual. 

“Look at her. She’s been blind-sided.” Her gaze went from the monitor showing Ros to the door leading to the press room. 

Ros had lost her footing. It was visible in her eyes as the room grew silent. An unusual occurence for the noisy journalists. Her skin had paled too quickly with the knowledge of the true answer to that question.

She was back in a moment. A moment that took too long. “The president is a little too busy right now with matters of national security. Would you ever ask that question during a press conference regarding a male president?”

“Good job Ros. Call them anti-feminist. Superb evasion tactics,” Petyr’s eyes didn’t stray from the monitor in his office.

“Well, we spent a good four years asking the same questions about President Baratheon so yes; it’s not uncommon questioning.”

“President Stark isn’t common.”

“Fuck.” Petyr groaned.

The mistake had already been made. A campaign platform run on that very topic. That no matter Sansa Stark’s background she was for the 99%. She was one of them. She understood the everyman’s struggle. It seemed Ros’ spinning capabilities were just two steps behind for the day.

“That is…to say…she’s above the everyday issues of a love-struck high school teen that you seem to be reducing her to. Her current priorities are not men.”

“Are her priorities women then? Women who don’t have a possible murderous background?”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “What the fuck is going on in there? Did he trade his CNN gig for a _National Enquirer_ badge?”

“This isn’t a slanderous gossip session Varys, this is a press conference. And we’re done for the day.”

“Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. Jeyne! Get Ros in my office right now!”

“I’ll be in the office dealing with the aftermath of North Korea if anyone needs me while you fix this disaster.”

“You need to be seen with Harry.”

“I’ve only met him once.”

“We’ll invite the Royal Family to the White House.”

“A little too obvious isn’t it?”

“We’ll start some bogus legislation that will rile up Republicans. Distract them a bit. Then we’ll have our new Press Secretary announce that the Royal Family is coming for a visit.”

“You’re not firing Ros over this. It wasn’t her fault. Also, it’s too early to start a courting process.”

“She didn’t spin fast enough. And I’m sorry, a courting process? With all due respect you’re not in the Regency Era, ma’am.”

“He’s a prince.”

“You’re the president.”

“I am.”

“You seem to keep forgetting that.”

“I’ll be in the office.”

 

 

 

The master bedroom of the West Wing's Residence was the only room that didn’t screech grandeur at anyone who entered. Although, few got the chance to enter that room.

For that reason, the White House interior decorators only had to follow Sansa’s requests. While other aspects of the house needed to be grand enough to exclaim how powerful she was through colors and trinkets, her bedroom was made into a cozy outlet. Hues of soft cream and purple. A far cry from the golds, reds, blues, and browns throughout the rest of the public aspects of the House.

“Remember when I used to be happy to work in the public sector?”

“Is anyone ever truly happy to work in the public sector?”

They were on the plush couch, an episode of The West Wing going unwatched in front of them. Neither of them watched television anymore. Sansa wasn’t even sure he’d ever watched television. With his knowledge and wit she always imagined him devouring philosophers and histories from a young age before she was even born. No time for television or films or books that didn’t allow for information or upperhand to be gained. He sipped at his coffee spiked with whiskey. She held her own unspiked tea, fingers rubbing the warm mug absentmindedly.

“I was. I wanted to change the whole corrupt system. I had so many plans.”

“You’re getting reelected.”

“Oh I’m sure you’ll make that happen, but that’s just it. You make it happen. Greasing palms, ultimatums, ‘We’ll stop fighting for gun legislation if you stop trying to be in charge of women’s vaginas,’ secure a vote, set aside a moral or two, blackmailing, drugs, not-so-secret affairs. We’re just lucky I never killed anyone with my own hands. You did though didn’t you?”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“But you killed his wife.”

“Does it make a difference? People die every day. We’re all corrupt. You have to be to make it to the top of the ladder. Chaos. All of it.”

“But I wanted to change it.”

“A sweet sentiment. One that many a young intern at the local mayor’s office has had. It doesn’t happen.”

“No it doesn’t. Life isn’t a song. You said that to me once.”

“I did.”

“I miss my parents.”

He looked away from Jed Bartlet and Leo McGarry, to see the woman next to him. Looking less and less like the powerful woman presented on screens and papers around the world. No. The power was still there. She just looked…younger. Younger even though she was fighting a new battle in her mind every day. Younger even though her hair had begun to gray. That descent that every president had to go through. Silver strands peaking through the red if you were close enough to see. What would she look like in four more years? Enter at 37; leave looking 77. Her bleeding heart hardened and dry from everything she’d had to witness and direct. Everything she wasn’t ready for when they started her campaign. When she won.

  
Her eyes remained on the tea in front of her. Barely touched, steam long gone. The house phone was on the table next to them. He was pretty sure she’d never touched that before either. Cell phones glued to her staff at all times if something couldn’t be done with her own. The phone even had a cord. She had to have asked for that specifically. Who made phones with cords anymore?

“You can call them. You can pick up the phone and call them.”

“I can’t. It’s too late.”

Whether she was alluding to the fact that it was two in the morning or that her relationship with Catelyn and Ned Stark was damaged forever he didn’t care to ask. The couch cushions reformed instantly when he stood up. A perfect cream square, with no creases. Only the best for the president. His tie was on the coffee table. He didn’t feel like retying it, but appearances needed to be kept at all times. Especially in their current climate with such a suspicious public waiting for a fucked up political scandal to keep their minds off of their average lives.

“Call them. I’ll be at the office in the morning.”

“No, don’t leave.” Sansa’s tea joined his empty coffee mug when she stood up. Hands reached out to stop him from finishing his tie knot. “Stay here tonight. I had Jeyne drop off your extra office clothes.” She undid his cufflinks. The silver birds she’d given him on Inauguration Day placed gently next to their drinks.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have Jeyne break into my apartment and steal my pajamas.”

“The atrocious, purple ones that are way too big for you? 

“Did you have Jeyne break into my apartment?”

“No she has a key.”

“Exercising those presidential privileges I see.”

“It’s all in the bathroom.”

They brushed their teeth together, a strange ritual to complete with each other. She’d left him alone to get her own set of soft, flannel pajamas on. When he returned to the bed she was already tucked underneath the covers, her mountain of pillows tossed to the floor, only leaving three and an empty space next to her. The duvet rustled when he joined her. Immediately she curled as close as she could. Another ritual for them. The woman with the most power in the United States, in flannel on his chest.

“What’s the schedule tomorrow?”

“You have a free half hour before the dinner.” Her parents still on both of their minds.

“We won’t be able to keep that open. Who knows what will happen tomorrow.”

“I’ll make sure it remains free. You need some sleep.”

“I don’t sleep well anymore. I haven’t slept for two days Petyr.”

“Do you want a call made to Dr. Luwin?”

“No.”

His fingers ran the length of her hair, then came back to the crown, the repetitive motion lulling her to a state of almost sleep. But even that small comfort couldn’t erase the millions of thoughts in her mind.

“If you want to build a better home, first you must demolish the old one.”

“Who said that? Machiavelli?”

“No, but it still stands. If you want to make the changes just start tearing apart the old regime.”

“Should I start with banning fireworks?”

“Still can’t do that. _I_ like fireworks.”


	2. Summertime Sadness (The Call)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss me hard before you go  
> Summertime sadness  
> I just wanted you to know  
> That baby, you the best

“You won.”  
  
“I haven’t gotten The Call.”

“It doesn’t matter. All that’s left is Michigan. You won.”

“Not the final swing state. I haven’t gotten The Call.”

“I’m getting the folder. I want Shae and Mya look it over.”

“Don’t you touch that folder. We’re waiting.”

The TV was the only thing moving at a reasonable pace in the hotel suite, even with six boxes of separate stations emitting on the screen. The voice of Anderson Cooper was the chosen station to listen to, but they were all saying the same thing.

Sansa Stark beat Tywin Lannister. A 37-year-old woman had stopped Tywin’s reelection in its tracks.

The rest of the campaign team was bustling about. Emailing, texting, answering calls from all the major news outlets. _No we don’t have a statement at this time. Ms. Stark will not be making a speech at this time._ There was still the slim possibility that a state they’d focused most of their time and money in securing the electoral votes would stay red. Would reelect Tywin who had made sure their failing factories stayed open, but had taken away their access to subsidized healthcare. Which the Stark team had continuously ground that into their speeches as they traversed the whole of Michigan three times. There was still a chance it didn’t work. But every news producer in the United States had already gotten on their headsets and called it.

Sansa didn’t feel that security.

The hotel room’s phone rang shrilly; silencing the room. Petyr strode to the side table it sat on and picked it up; the cord sprung up and bounced with the quickness of his movement.

“Petyr Baelish speaking.” He listened. “I’ll see if she’s available. Would you mind holding?” He pressed hold before the person on the line could have possibly had time to answer. “Everyone out.”

The team didn’t need telling twice. They immediately exited the suite living room, filing into the private hallway. No doubt so they could cram their bodies against the soundproof door to see if they could catch a bit of the conversation.

Petyr looked up at Sansa. “It’s The Call. Are you ready?”

“I need one more minute of not being president.” She eyed the receiver still in his hand. The cord had stopped springing around.

“Tywin might hang up, then go out and make an acceptance speech while you enjoy your minute sweetheart.”

“Petyr. Please.”

He eyed her while she eyed the phone, then spoke in a softer tone, “This is what you wanted. This is what you worked for.”

“It’s still fucking frightening,” she breathed a laugh bordering on manic. His lips quirked and she walked over to take the phone. He pressed the blinking hold button and her demeanor changed. With a straightened back and hard set eyes, she spoke again, “Sansa Stark speaking.”

Petyr stepped away with the intent of letting her have the moment to herself, but her hand reached out and touched his arm.

 _Stay here_ , she mouthed before replying vocally, “It has been quite the race. I’ll agree with you on that Mr. President.” She put two fingers to her temple and pressed hard as she listened to him speak for a moment.

The formalities of Tywin’s title would follow him forever, of course, she’d have to refer to him as the title he’d just lost. Courtesy and politeness were worn thin, but not thin enough that she couldn’t grant him this last moment of self-aggrandizing over the phone. Petyr sat down on the bed and observed.

She stepped away from the side table and began a small pace in the space the phone cord stretched to. “Thank you, I am sure I will as well. Would-”

She took a deep silent breath. Tywin still wanted as much control over her as he possibly could. Petyr reached out when her pacing brought her closer to the bed. He squeezed her hand and she smiled for a moment before pulling away to resume her pacing.

“Oh yes, I’m very familiar with Cersei’s current position. As well as her husband’s former position.”

There was no point to letting Tywin get the last laugh right before Sansa would take his spot. They had two months to discuss transitions with him, but that didn’t mean Sansa needed to let him walk all over her.

“End it,” Petyr murmured.

Sansa stopped and raised her eyebrows. _What?_   she mouthed. “Ah yes, my team will be looking at that relationship specifically. We’ve had our eyes on Russia for a majority of this campaign. I’m sure  _you_ have as well. But shouldn’t-”

He rolled his eyes at whatever bullshit Tywin was spewing. “End the call. You won. He lost.”

Sansa shook her head and jerked her head towards the door, _Leave_.

Petyr shook his head and smirked before whispering again, “Oh no, you wanted me to stay so I’m staying, otherwise you’ll be listening to this idiot all night. Get off the phone so we can go over your speech, Madame President.”

The title stunned her for a moment as he knew it would. The shock radiated through her veins. When he stood up from the bed and pulled out the blue folder from the side table he could hear Tywin’s gravelly voice droning on. He held up the folder which only contained two copies of a speech written two weeks prior. She eyed it and then turned her attention to Petyr’s dark eyes.

Without looking away from him she abruptly said, “Tywin, I'd like to thank you very much for this call, but unfortunately I’m going to have to end it. There are some voters in a ballroom waiting to hear the good news. I look forward to our transition meetings and I will make sure my office contacts yours immediately to schedule them.”

Petyr grinned as she followed her blunt speech up with a polite farewell and hung up the phone.

He held out the speech for her to take, but she ignored the folder and came forward to press her lips to his. If his Madame President had stunned her it was nothing in comparison to his shock. His eyelids closed as her hands held his face to hers. The softness was something he’d thought about time and time again but had given up on. Settling for shared looks, brief brushes against one another on the campaign tour bus, that one late night of drinking where they’d ended up very very close, but not close enough to this moment.

But not close enough. Not when there were reporters to schedule airtime with, strategies to make, speeches to practice, photo ops to setup, pancake breakfasts to serve, and all the other seemingly inane bullshit they both endured while they worked their way to this moment. And yet...She’d never batted his hands away, never broke eye contact when he was caught staring for too long, always smirked at his snarky remarks. Licked her lips far too often for his liking. 

He hadn’t thought it would come to this. By the time he began to even think about reciprocating she had already pulled away. Her eyes crinkled in confusion and hurt.

“Fuck, sorry. I was mistaken-”

The folder made a smack on the ground when he dropped it in favor of threading his hands through her hair. His lips met hers again, making sure to erase any doubt in her mind about mistakes even if this was one. They could always blame it on the election night endorphins, he thought to himself. Sticking it to Tywin Lannister was a bit of a turn on. Then he felt her hand making its way down from his cheek and he let himself stop thinking for a moment.

“We should probably let the team back in the suite,” she murmured against his lips, still not wanting to stop completely. Her hand so low on his chest if only she'd gone a bit lower. 

“Mhm,” he hummed. There was no trust in his vocal chords to make any other appropriate answers. He kept his hand in her hair, fingers curled in the strands against her neck.  
She smiled when he deepened the kiss with any trace of worry gone. Or rather, worry about him not reciprocating what she was feeling. The worry about giving a speech and being elected president was still there. But he was doing a very good job of pushing that worry back.

“Petyr.”

“Madame President," he replied against her mouth. 

She lightly squeezed his arm, “You’re standing on my speech.”

“My apologies,” he broke away and ducked down to pick up the folder. He held it out between them, but she still didn’t take it. The moment was broken, but neither one of them was sated. 

“When the night’s done, well, if it’s ever done,” she grimaced with a glance at the clock that showed 3:07 am. “Will you stay with me? So we can discuss your future with the Stark cabinet of course.”

He stroked her hair again. The last bit of contact he’d allow before they became president and campaign manager again. Forced to tread a different track, “Absolutely. I won’t leave your side until you enter that stage and then exit it. Now, you were saying something about that campaign team?”

“Perhaps we should let them in. They’ll wonder why it took so long.”

He combed his fingers through her slightly mussed hair, thoroughly enjoying the blush on her cheeks. He waved the folder, “I’ll go let them know…Do you want a moment to call your family?”

“No,” she shook her head. The demeanor reserved for Tywin Lannister’s call back again already. “They probably wouldn’t answer anyway.”

 

* * *

  
  
“Madame President she didn’t pick up. Would you like me to try again?”

“Did you already try twice?”

“Um…yes I’ve actually tried three times. Still no answer.”

“You’re sweet for trying to spare my feelings Morgan. But don’t worry about it. I’m sure they’re very busy. Thank you.”

“My pleasure Madame President. Have a good evening.”

Sansa placed the phone back on the receiver and scooted back into her fortress of pillows. The cord twisted back into its original U shape. She watched the progression of the plastic unfurling. She thought of calling Petyr. Thought of the pills tucked away in a box in her closet where no one could find them. Thought of the weed that was stashed in her case of barely touched DVDs. It wouldn’t hurt much. It’d be better to choose one of those over the decanters of whiskey and cognac she only kept for when Petyr came over.

Then Petyr was on her mind again. She needed her mind clear of him. She didn’t want to be so reliant on him in more ways than a president was reliant on her chief of staff. She needed anything else on her mind. North Korea. No, that was a hopeless trail. The impending Brexit on the horizon. No, that brought Harry to mind and Petyr’s idiotic exit plan he was already orchestrating for her.

There was never a time in her life when things had been simple, with her parents always involved in some political business. She wasn’t destined for simplicity, but at the current moment that’s all she craved more than any of her hidden vices she had. The duvet rustled when she got out her bed. Pacing was better than any other option at the moment. It kept her body occupied. Kept the tingling at bay that came when she wasn’t moving around at a hundred miles per minute.

Her body may have been occupied, but her mind could still run rampant. There was no time for either drug, but she needed one. She had to be on her guard though; her best behavior was required for the dinner that night. Foreign diplomats, bureaucrats, and enemies disguised as friends galore. Especially with every rumor that Varys had spread with his news conference stunt. She groaned and pressed her face into her hands breathing in and out.

“Jon?” she called out. “Could you come in please?”

The curly haired secret serviceman entered her room quietly, “Yes Madame President?”

She tore her hands away from her face, “God damn it Jon just call me Sansa. You’ve been with me long enough.”

“Public habit. I apologize. What do you need Sansa?”

She paused. She just needed someone. She didn’t have a reason. No bullshit excuse to even give him in that moment, “Nothing really. Just keeping you from doing your job I suppose.”

“It’s alright. It’s just your life I’m in charge of protecting. Nothing too important, I can take a break every once in a while,” he deadpanned.

“Oh you can’t remember to call me by my first name, but you can crack jokes like that?” she laughed.

He shrugged and then smiled, “Would you like me to send for Mr. Baelish?”

Sansa sighed, “That obvious now, huh?”

“Like you said…I’ve been with you a long time. And besides that, you seem to be in the middle of a trying moment. The chief of staff is supposed to be there for guidance during those trying times right?”

She smiled, “Thank you Jon.”

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he said and pulled out a phone. “I’m sure he’ll be here before your car arrives.”

The thought of dinner made her stomach churn. A façade. All of it. And she needed her own mask for it all. She crossed the room and flicked on the bathroom light; the room was awash in a soft gold light. Her hired stylists had already been by in the afternoon to pin curl her hair and set up her supplies for the night. She didn’t require them for every event and for once she had a free half hour to herself. A grimace appeared while she moisturized and thought about why her free half hour was still very free.

She left the golden light of her bathroom to grab her latest garment bag edition to her closet. She unzipped it and extracted the silver gown from its protection. The unseen box of Xanax beckoned her to ease her mind’s racing thoughts, but she ignored it.

“Prince Oberyn Martell and his partner Ellaria…His brother Doran and his wife Mellario and their daughter Arianne,” she murmured the guests she’d need to remember out loud to distract herself. Petyr would help her with the rest. Whispering their name and biography in her ear just before she’d greet them like an old friend. She slipped into her dress, tossing her robe onto the dressing table in the closet. The silver silk slid smoothly over her skin. Many people that night and the next morning would discuss how it bordered on “inappropriate for her age” with the slit starting rather high on her thigh. No cap sleeves to demurely cover her shoulders.

She felt good in it. Better than good. She felt every bit of the authority she was supposed to be. Attention would be commanded by this dress and by her in it. She set out to apply the necessary makeup. Never too much just enough whatever those words meant to the public. For her, it meant as minimal amount as possible. Enough to cover the signs of aging that were so frowned upon as if they were preventable and something to be shunned. Whenever her stylists stayed to perfect her entire look for time-sensitive events they made it look effortless. She’d learned some of their techniques in her own way, but there were more important things for her to worry about the tactics they used on perfecting her public face. She was just letting down her pin curls when she heard her door open and shut quietly.

It was only a moment before Petyr appeared behind her in her mirror. His attention remained on adjusting his cufflinks; the silver mockingbirds looked striking against his tux. Although, the bow tie around his neck was crooked and in dire need of the attention he was dedicating to the cuffs. He grumbled a sigh and finally looked up at her in defeat, but his hands quit moving immediately.

“Trouble with the accessories?” she addressed his reflection, attempting to ignore how the awe with which he looked at her tempered her need for any drug or any bit of affection from a loved one who was ignoring her.

He wet his lips and walked towards her with his outstretched hands. A surrender and a silent plea for her help, “A bit. How is this the first time I’m seeing this dress?”

“Fortunately,” she started when she turned her attention to adjusting his shirt cuffs and the bird links, “not every wardrobe decision I make has to go through you. In fact, none of them do.” She stood up to retie his tie. “There. Everything’s perfect now.”

“Is it?” He brought his hand up to stroke her hair to the side of her face. “Jon said you needed me.”

“Need is a very strong interpretation of what I asked him.” She tried to play it off, but it was hard to prove she didn’t need him when she tilted her face into his hand.

“Mmm,” he smirked reading her mind as always. “The car’s scheduled to arrive in about ten minutes. Would you like to leave earlier?”

“Why would we do that?” Her hands drifted to his face, stroking the finely groomed facial hair there. “Why fill some free time with rushing off to an event neither of us wants to be at?” She turned to kiss his hand.

“We may not _want_ to go, but we _need_ to go sweetheart.”

“I suppose need is the word of the evening then.”

His lips quirked under her hand and his returned the kiss, “Oh so you do _need_ me?”

“Don’t be so pleased about it.”

“You’re right. If I become any more pleased we might just ruin this dress. And that would be a travesty.” His hands ghosted over the fabric, pressing gently at points he knew she was weak for his touch at.  
This is what she needed. And she hated it. This is what the dress did. And she loved it. Commanded attention got her what she wanted. _Who_ she wanted.

His lips were on her neck, her hands falling to his shoulders in the process. She needed to say something, anything to keep her head straight, “Where is this dinner at again?”

“I don’t remember,” he murmured against her collarbone. He was trailing lower and lower. “Somewhere with plenty of empty rooms; one where Jon and Sandor can conveniently station themselves outside of.”

“Isn’t that a little conspicuous..." she drifted off when his hands traced the cut of her dress, "...and unwise given the current climate surrounding us?”

“Well, that’s why it’s such a great coincidence that Prince Harry is currently on U.S. soil. Probably on his way to the dinner already where you two will finally be able to give a face to those rumors.”

She shifted out his embrace and her back hit the counter, “What do you mean by that?”

“That pictures will be taken of the two of you having a wonderful time.” His face lit up at her resistance. “And that someone will distract Harry in a vacant room while we occupy another.”

“Is that how this future marriage to him will be? According to you?”

“I don’t mind being a president’s mistress. Isn’t that a requirement for you? Haven’t they all had at least one?”

With that, she gave a short laugh and pulled him close again. He kissed her cheek, his facial hair scratching her skin in a delightfully sinful way. “I don't think you really fit the qualifications of a _mistress_." 

"Semantics."

"You’re also giving yourself a lot of power for a mistress.”

“The best have more power than the president that they’re fucking,” he whispered.

She let out another laugh, “And the truth comes out.”

“Well I didn’t say I was the best,” he nipped at her ear. “Yet.”

And she knew that wouldn’t be the only lie he’d tell her that night, but she couldn’t find it in her to care in that moment.


	3. Carmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys, the girls,  
> They all love Carmen...  
> Tying cherry knots,  
> Smiling, doing party favors

“Coming towards us now are Taena Merryweather and her husband Orton. They’ve been at the beck and call of Cersei and Robert, but recently donated quite a bit of money towards your campaign. You met them at the Fourth of July event. She’s cleverer than he is but that doesn’t matter really, since neither of them knows how loud I’m going to make you scream my name in an hour.”

“Taena! Orton! It’s been four weeks too long, but it’s always a pleasure to see you,” Sansa smiled brightly as she greeted the couple. Petyr stepped back to allow her space and watch rather than participate in the conversation. The knowledge that they had no idea the filth Petyr had been coupling with his introductions all night, brightened her interaction with them considerably.

“Madame President you look stunning,” Taena sighed as she looked her up and down. “That dress is gorgeous! Silver suits you.”

“If only that was the democratic party’s color of choice,” her husband joined in. The ice in his drink jingled against the glass as he gestured with it. “Stark silver and Lannister gold.”

“There’s more to the party system than two families,” Sansa laughed.

“That’s what you _want_ everyone to believe,” he winked. Sansa’s smile tightened as she tried not to show her disgust at how familiar he believed he could be with her. He took another sip and she could smell the vodka on his breath when he spoke again. “Granted, you Starks aren’t exactly united behind one color nowadays. Some are silver, some are gold, some are…whatever the fuck the third party is. Rainbow?”

Taena’s hand went for her husband’s arm to lower his drink and shut him up with zero tact. It seemed she’d had enough of him too and it was only the cocktail hour.

“I suppose you’re correct, but what would D.C. be without bipartisan families? They really should start saying tripartisan. Give at least one of the minuscule parties some credit.” She laughed again and the Merryweathers joined in. Petyr didn’t add to the laughter, but made a small attempt at a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes and only barely reached his mouth. The Merryweathers only had eyes for Sansa though. “Where are you two seated?”

“We’re over with the Freys,” Taena answered with a gesture to the side opposite of where Sansa and Petyr were supposed to be heading.

“Plenty of daughters to his name. All in the same party too,” Orton added with a laugh.

“That may be true, but it’s a shame that he won’t allow them to work towards positions of their own,” Petyr finally spoke up. His dry disdain could be more open than Sansa’s. He glanced around at the people around them. “Perhaps it wouldn’t stay that way if they weren’t squashed under his thumb at all times. Unfortunately,” he finished with a smile that said otherwise, “we have to part; it seems everyone’s getting seated.”

Sansa’s smile remained plastered to her face as she reached for Taena’s hand one last time. “But we must meet after the dinner. Pass my well-wishes onto Walder and his son would you please?”

“Of course Madame President. Until then,” Taena smiled and took her husband’s arm as they said their goodbyes.

Sansa led the way as Petyr kept up with her. She smiled and waved at the people around them. The glitzy over-decorated room was suffocating. It grew more suffocating by the minute as more and more people filled the room to sit at their tables. A roar of conversation just buzzing and mumbling in the grand mansion’s ballroom. Sansa still didn’t even remember what they were all there for. A bullshit celebration of some bullshit politician. It definitely wasn’t a charity. She knew which charities and non-profits she openly supported. She actually cared about those events.

“Am I really going to have to meet with them again afterward?” she murmured when she slowed enough for Petyr to walk beside her.

“Don’t worry. I doubt they’ll stay for that long. He should learn to either stop drinking or how to handle his drinking problem in public,” Petyr replied; his voice was an anchor for her ship of pessimistic thoughts.

“She should divorce him. She’d be fine nowadays,” Sansa retorted back as she politely waved at the Mormonts who were seated two tables away from them. Lyanna, per usual, looked wiser than everyone else around her even when they were 10-40 years her senior. She was the youngest in the room at 22, a political prodigy that Sansa had high hopes for.

Petyr pulled out her chair for her when they arrived at their table. “They have an open marriage of sorts. Neither of them is particularly interested in the opposite sex, but they need each other as a cover.”

Sansa sat down and took her place card in hand. The hand-painted calligraphy probably cost thousands of dollars when they could have sent it to an office supply store for a hundred. Petyr was still standing behind his seat surveying the area so she looked up at him. “She’s smarter than using him as a cover.”

“His family is old money.” Sansa rolled her eyes at Petyr’s matter of fact tone. “Easy there. No eye rolling out here, even if it hits too close to home.”

Her answer was only a smile until she glanced at the place card next to hers and frowned. “Why is he sitting here?”

“You need to be seen with each other.”

“I get that, but that doesn’t mean we have to sit next to each other all night. I can meet him at his table- preferably one across the room- have a photographer take a photo and then we’re done.”

“He’s not sitting at this table simply for your fake romance. Britain’s planning on exiting the European Union. He’ll have information on that.”

“Will he? The monarchy doesn’t really do much anymore besides act as a figurehead. Even more so lately,” she scoffed. “Harry doesn’t even do a good job at that.”

Petyr leaned down by her cheek close enough to raise eyebrows, but not so close that anyone watching would sneak a photo for dirt. It was his normal job anyway. “Act like a future duchess around Harry and I’ll treat you like a queen when we’re safely behind a locked door of one of those _many empty_ rooms we discussed earlier.”

“I don’t know if that’s worth it,” she sniffed. If she thought about Orton Merryweather she could control the heat that threatened to course through her body to her cheeks. She wouldn’t give Petyr the satisfaction of a blush in public. She was past that stage.

“You’re being a brat Madame President.” He straightened up and smoothed his tie. “I’m going to speak with the Targaryen siblings now. Or do you need to me to stay and make the introductions?”

“Daenerys is here? Why didn’t Elia come?”

“Marital spat. I have yet to find out what’s going on there.”

“Then you’re not doing your job efficiently,” she smirked with the bitter air of someone who’d been one-upped too often during the night. Petyr shifted so he was behind her chair, his hand sliding down her back towards the part that was covered. She barely jumped, but he chuckled anyway. “Petyr I swear to God if you go any lower-”

“Your royal highness welcome!” Petyr’s hand left her back as he went to shake hands with the incoming blonde who seemed to gracefully bounce instead of walk. “May I introduce you to the President of the United States, Sansa Stark.”

She stood and held out her hand. Harry took it and smiled. “My, my they did not lie about your good looks.”

Sansa raised her eyebrows and tightened her grip before letting go. “Is that how they teach you to greet people at Buckingham Palace?”

“No it involves more bowing -and being bowed to- and a lot of head bobbing and formal titles,” he shrugged. “I prefer the American greetings. Blunt and to the point. Call me Harry.”

“There’s still a bit of respect necessary,” she bristled and sat back down. “Or did you comment on Tywin Lannister’s _good looks_ when you met him too?”

“I would have, but they never let me get near him. Something about my dirty past.” He followed her lead and sat down at his place next to her. With a genuine smile, he added, “But I do apologize if I’ve offended you Madame President. I wouldn’t want to start on the wrong foot with someone of your caliber.”

Sansa’s lips turned up at the empty compliment. “It’s not a matter of offense at all Harry. But where’s your aunt? I was under the impression she would be here as well.”

“To babysit me?” he laughed and then shrugged. “She’s off discussing crown business with some twat in a tux. They all look the same after a while and I can’t be damned to remember all their names.”

“I’m afraid I must do the same. If you’ll excuse me,” Petyr smirked and conspicuously leaned down to Sansa’s ear to whisper. “Play nicely and _I will_ later. Charm him like the royalty you are.”

“I’d rather you _wouldn’t_ ,” she replied quietly without glancing up at him when he walked away. She knew his grin was self-satisfied without seeing the proof for herself.

“Is he done telling you all my dirty secrets?” Harry laughed. “I usually like to rely on them for my small talk. I hate it when the help takes away my talking points.”

She scoffed. “The chief of staff is more than _the help_.”

The prince bit his lip to keep from smiling. “That definitely seems to be the case. You two are wrapped around each other’s fingers pretty tightly. But I can’t tell who has more control in the relationship.”

Sansa didn’t blush. She’d gained control of that giveaway when she was governor. She evaded and got straight to business. “How’s the Crown's relationship with the PM right now? Britain seems to be on the verge of some sort of _exit_. Who’s in control there?”

Harry yawned. “Sorry Madame President. Unlike you, I _am_ just a pretty face. You’ll have to wait for my aunt to come over for all those nasty, boring details.”

His playboy front seemed too forced to be a true reality. There had to be something underneath that just needed coaxing out. Sansa took everything he said with a grain of salt and tried to figure out the best way to make him hers. Harry watched her steadily eye him. A lazy grin pressed his cheeks up.

After mulling over the best approach, she leaned back in her own chair. “I doubt that.”

“You doubt what?”

“I think all of this,” she gestured to his posture, his artificial bedhead, the rumpled suit, “is meant to distract when you listen and observe just as much as anyone else. Pretty faces get attention but it’s the eyes that people tend to ignore. And ears. No one pays attention to those.”

She didn’t truly believe all of that. She doubted he observed anything –that didn’t have the necessary female attributes- for more than ten minutes. There was definitely a boyish air, a perpetual mommy’s boy attitude. He’d get whatever he wanted no matter how many tabloids were printed. As long as he ran rampant, in the right ways, the world would pay attention to him rather than those above him. Harry was a pawn with an ego that didn’t need any more fluffing, but it was the easiest way to get him on _her_ side.

He was quiet for a moment and then let out a loud laugh. “Oh Madame President I’m flattered but you’ve got me all wrong.”

“I don’t think I do,” she insisted.

Harry was spared from coming up with a witty reply when the rest of their table’s occupants arrived. Mellario, Doran, and Oberyn Martell were accompanied by Ellaria Sand and Lyanna Mormont’s father.

“All the Martells in one place I see,” Harry whispered quietly. “Which one is their president again?”

“Doran is the president. And they’re the Martells and Sand,” Sansa whispered back. “Ellaria and Oberyn aren’t married.”

“Oh, how modern,” Harry sighed in a mockery of a posh accent. He winked. “Thanks for being my own personal Baelish, Madame President.”

Inside, she hated every moment of their conversation but she smiled and placed her hand on his. “Anytime. We have to stick together at events like these.” _In your dreams._

* * *

 

The entire night had passed by pleasantly enough. Harry’s aunt, Margaret, and Petyr had arrived together and sat down to join in the conversation. With some adeptness, Petyr and Sansa were both able to extract information and read between the lines from what Harry and Margaret divulged about Britain’s impending vote. The Crown wasn’t for it but what did it matter? Firgurehead. The Martell-Sands were a little harder to crack. There was no sneaking information from them. When they spoke they spoke with purpose and only let their companions know what they wanted them to know and nothing else. When it drifted and they could politely not pay attention, Petyr stole Sansa’s attention from Harry’s latest party prince anecdote.

He spoke quietly in Sansa’s ear. “I take it your conversation with the prince was enjoyable?”

“Of course, he’s as wonderful as Robert Baratheon,” she smiled when Oberyn caught her eye. The din of the room was loud enough that she doubted he heard her, but whether he was adept at lip reading…The smirk on his face and his discreet motion of zipping his lips told her what she needed to know.

Petyr turned his face away so Oberyn couldn’t read his own as he said, “It should be easy to _charm_ him then.” He moved his foot against her ankle and applied a small amount of pressure. She shifted hers away immediately. “Cheer up Sansa. Only an hour and a half more. Daenerys would love to have a word with the president after dessert.”

“We’ll see if I can make it until then.” The smile meant for Oberyn’s watching eyes brightened when she caught Mellario’s attention. The conversation had almost lulled to silence so she spoke up. “Mellario I finally got the chance to finish reading Arianne’s book. Her poetry is so heartbreaking but wonderfully so.”

“Why thank you Madame President,” she smiled warmly. “I’ll be sure to pass your compliment on. We’re very proud of her.”

“I thought she would be here tonight. I wanted to thank her in person for the copy she sent me.”

Mellario laughed. “Well, she decided a protest was worth her while, rather than a stuffy dinner for world leaders to pat themselves on the back.”

“Quite a sentiment I’d agree with if I didn’t love to dress up, pat myself on the back, and get a chance to insult Cersei Lannister to her face,” Oberyn contributed.

“She’s a Baratheon now,” Doran chided. “At least respect her marriage if you won’t respect the woman.”

The comment made Sansa bristle but she stayed quiet. The concept of a woman’s marriage being worthy of respect even when the woman wasn’t irked her in every way possible. But she hated Cersei as much as Oberyn.

“I don’t think I will. Besides, it wasn’t the Baratheons who went into our country looking for weapons of mass destruction that didn’t even exist,” he growled. “She’ll always be a Lannister to me.”

“Was Arianne protesting the dinner specifically or another event?” Petyr directed towards Mellario and Doran in an attempt to delay the discussion of tense foreign affairs until those around them had drunk more.

“No, not the dinner. As I’m sure you’re aware recently was an incident involving the Black Lives Matter movement and the police force in D.C. Her Palestinians for Peace coalition was aiding in a demonstration regarding police brutality. She wanted a chance to do some good during her short time on U.S. soil.”

Doran smiled fondly. “She definitely is a force to be reckoned with.”

“An inspirational one as well. I’m sure many women are happy they have her to look up to. I know I am.” Sansa beamed.

“Girl power!” Harry contributed drunkenly. His fourth drink of the night seemed to have more of a kick than the other three with his water glass barely touched. “I’m all about the matriarchy taking over.”

“Simpering bullshit from the woman in charge of the country whose police Arianne is protesting,” Ellaria spat as she glared at Sansa.

Petyr’s leg touched Sansa’s again as a warning, but she already knew to be prepared for Ellaria’s blunt anger.

“Police brutality is quite the problematic fire that we have every intention of putting out. Just as it should be in other countries aside from the United States. But there are many fires across the country at any given time, you four understand that as well. I know that and there are never any excuses to hide them. But I assure you my compliments of Arianne are not mere simpering nor are they bullshit. I mean them whole-heartedly. She is an inspiration to me.”

“Madame President, you’re very good with pleasant words and phrases,” Merllario started with an understanding smile. “I appreciate your kind words about my daughter and the _sincerity_ with which you meant them. But I do not believe you understand anything about our country or what we go through. How could any of you?” She gestured to Petyr, Harry, and Margaret.

Sansa’s ever-present smile didn’t diminish and she dipped her head in reverence. “Then I’m glad we’re all seated together. I’m sure with our remaining time we can enlighten and educate one another on many topics.”

“I think I’ll need a server to bring me another drink if we’re talking about _enlightening and educating_ ,” Oberyn laughed. “What happened to empty discussions of the weather?”

“A storm should be coming in tonight,” Petyr added with a bemused smile. “And I don’t mean that metaphorically.”

* * *

 

“Can you tie a cherry stem into a knot Madame President?” Harry asked as he fished the cherry out of his fifth sidecar. He popped the sugary, fake fruit into his mouth, plucked the stem off, and held it out to her. “It’s the sign of a good kisser.”

Thankfully the rest of their table had vacated after dessert so they didn’t bear witness to Harry’s behavior. An overnight flight was the excuse. But a date was cemented for a visit to Palestine. So the seating arrangement was a success in one way.

 _Charm him_. Petyr was nowhere near, across the room deep in conversation with Daenerys and Rhaegar still, but his orders were her conscience during the interaction with the prince. Her conversation with the Targaryens had been brief by choice. Too many eyes wandered their way so different dates for a lunch in the Oval office were tossed back and forth before they finally settled on one in a few weeks’ time. She’d quickly made her way back to the superficial task at hand. Petyr had already texted the photographer to be at their table but they were late.

And she was finding it hard to charm a self-centered man who resorted to pickup lines from the prep-schoolyard. “Well there are better ways to prove that, but I’ll give it a shot.”

With her finely polished fingers, she took the stem from him and placed it into her mouth. It tasted of whiskey and salt; the fiber yielded under her tongue, softly splintering off into tiny pieces and it only took her a moment to twist it into a knot. She felt like a child, but she stuck her tongue out to the prince’s glee as he gave a short laugh. A flash went off behind them and they both turned to see a smiling man with a camera.

“Aren’t you two a fresh pair amongst these oldies?” The man smiled mischievously. “Another for Page Six?”

“Of course. I have to give my biggest haters the ammunition they need.” Harry glanced at Sansa. “Or maybe this will turn them in my favor. What do you say Madame President?”

The photographer was one of theirs and she knew this was the only reason she was supposed to spend the evening with Harry and not discuss important matters with other people. It didn’t make her feel any better. Selling out. Selling a fake story and a fake version of herself.

She smiled. “Well, the press always gets what they want. Don’t they? No matter _how_ you have to spin it.”

The photographer laughed again and lifted the camera up again. His hand cupped the lens and he said, “Now why don’t you two lean in and laugh as though Madame President has just told you the funniest joke.”

“That may be a little difficult. I haven’t gotten a real laugh out of her all night,” Harry ducked his head back and faked a laugh while Sansa looked astonished. The flashbulb lit up the scene once again.

“Better than my idea. Fits you two perfectly.” With that, he was off to photograph more faux tableaus for the tabloids.

“One of yours or one of mine? I can never tell anymore. They all act the same,” Harry said.

“Mine I believe.”

“Another one of yours seems to be coming this way. He is a piece of work isn’t he? And that goddess ballerina on his arm? I’d be worried if I were you.”

Sansa eyed Petyr and the notorious ballerina who was clutching his arm. Like clockwork. The photograph was taken and her night with Harry was a success. They could go off together without anyone the wiser. “I have no reason to be worried unless she distracts him from his work.”

As they made their way over to her she noticed Cersei Lannister in the corner of the room speaking to a woman Sansa had just been introduced to that evening. Her eyes turned back to Petyr but her mind whirred over the current problem.

“And what is his work with you? Surely there’s more to it than advising? You were so quick to change the subject to foreign affairs earlier.” Harry laughed. His laugh sounded more like a titter. An Oscar Wilde portrait of the bourgeoisie lay in that sound. His drunken state diminished so much that she started to have some doubts it was ever even a reality. “It seems like he does a little more for you than just advising. I mean, I would too.”

“Would you?” she replied with a raised brow. “What would that entail?”

“Madame President, your Royal Highness. I apologize for interrupting,” Petyr started with a smirk. “A new friend of mine wished to make your acquaintance. This is Myranda Royce. Daughter of Nestor Royce and one of the American Ballet Theatre Company’s top ballerinas.”

“Funny how the fact that I’m someone’s daughter comes before my own achievements when it comes to introductions,” she chided.

“I apologize,” Petyr smirked. “I find it depends on the company.”

“I would have been fine with the introduction of the illustrious and beautiful ballerina Myranda Royce,” Harry waggled an eyebrow like a cartoon character.

“I was just speaking to Petyr about how I wanted to find out more about British culture. He seemed to think you’d be the perfect person for that.”

Harry’s smile expanded tenfold while Sansa tried not to roll her eyes. The excuse was weak and executed poorly. If it were anyone but Harry they would have exerted a little more effort. Or at least she hoped. She felt familiar eyes watching their foursome and knew, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be smart to have Harry away from her.

“Oh I believe the prince is busy.” Sansa smiled and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Weren’t you going to show me that painting you found earlier? On the west side of the manor?”

Harry showed his valor in that moment when his eyes lit up and a delighted smirk replaced the grin on his lips. “Why yes Madame President I was. I apologize Miss Royce, Mr. Baelish, but you’ll have to excuse us.”

He held out his hand and Sansa took it. Without so much as a glance back at Petyr, she and Harry walked out of the ballroom arm in arm. People did double-takes at the two of them as they made their way out but they only seemed to have eyes and smiles for each other. When they were in a secluded hallway Harry turned serious.

“So what game are we playing now?”

“Would you like me to be perfectly honest with you your royal highness?” she started as they walked along the quiet hallway. It was the first time she noticed Sandor and Jon sticking close to her side all night. They followed at a close distance behind them. She moved Harry’s arm so his hand rested on her bareback.

“I don’t know Madame President. _Do_ I want you to be perfectly honest with me?”

“Let’s dismiss the formal titles Harry. You like American bluntness right?” Sansa noticed another figure at the end of the hall behind Sandor and Jon. An iPhone wasn’t well-hidden in the woman’s hand and Sansa bit her tongue in frustration. She turned back to Harry and pointedly looked at the upcoming doorway that she hoped lead to an empty room.

“I do indeed. Shall we go inside?” He gestured for her to go first and looked around. There was plenty of antique furniture, trinkets, gold lacquer, and plush carpet that silenced her heels. And no one was around. She slipped the heels off tossed them on the floor.

“We’ll only be a moment,” she said to her guards when she closed the door. Harry had already made himself at home on one of the musty chaise lounges. His legs crossed in front of him as he eyed her.

“So what do you need from me Sansa?”

“Do you have a special someone in your life Harry?”

“Not currently,” he replied slowly. “Do _you_?”

“Well, when you find that special someone you’d undoubtedly like to hold onto them correct?” She ignored his question and leaned against the arm. She traced a line along his shoulder.

“I’d like to think so.” The playboy façade was wearing thin and she appreciated the worried boy she was uncovering beneath. She could use that.

“But there’s always the question of, ‘Will they be right for _The Crown_? Are they prestigious enough? Do they impress mummy and daddy? The queen and king?”

“What are you getting at Sansa?”

“Do you think a former two-term president of the United States would be enough for them?”

“Are you proposing to me?” Harry smirked. “On the night of our first meeting? There are a couple of presumptions there don’t you think? ”

“There’s usually more to this, a lot more time spent wooing but I think you’re smart enough to realize that yes you could get a princess from a foreign country but only when your older brothers are married. You’ll be the last when they’re all vying for the closer heirs.”

“Way to boost a man’s confidence.”

She had years to boost his confidence. She needed it broken down and this idea planted early on. So when he strayed he'd realize that she was his best option. 

“You don’t need any help with that though. Say you’ll think about it?”

Harry eyed her warily but grinned. “You know you’re getting re-elected already?”

Sansa smirked.

* * *

 

“I gave you an out and you didn’t take it,” Petyr growled into her chest as he slipped her dress down her body. The silk rumpled into folds like an accordion, but still hid a majority of her body. “ _Oh, I believe the prince is busy. Weren’t you going to show me that painting you found earlier_?” He mimicked her pathetic excuse from earlier.

“You’re,” she breathed as she stumbled backward, “going to ruin my dress.”

“Good,” he muttered then yanked it down her legs then swore. “God did you have nothing on underneath the whole time?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps Harry kept a token.”

“You. Kept. Me. Waiting.” He pressed her against the bed until she fell back. Her dress a forgotten pile of silver on the floor.

“You told me to do this.”

He kissed a pathway up her thighs, scraping his teeth, his lips and the hair above them along her skin. “You have seven years to make him yours. You didn’t need to run off with him tonight. We had a plan.”

“I didn’t like-” she sucked in another breath as his kisses reached their destination, “your plan very much. He’s disgusting by the way. An utter boys’ boy. A future drunk Baratheon.”

“Then why’d you run off with him?”

“I need to get a handle on him before he turns into a complete Robert. Besides, we’re being too obvious.” She yanked at his dress shirt to pull him up to her. “Harry’s an idiot and even he made comments all night. We had to wait. Here is safer than anywhere else.”

“After all those pleasant comments I left you to think about, you still made me wait. Oh no, you don’t-” Petyr stopped her attempt to divest him of his pants. “You made me wait.”

His grip on her wrist was hard, but he placed a kiss just below his hand. The tender moment didn’t make her melt under his affections. She pulled back and tried to move his hands away but he only smiled as her thwarted her attempts.

“Is that how you want to be now? You want the power back Sansa? Too bad. We’re playing by my rules.”

“It’s always your rules,” she groaned and gave in.

When he could tell she wouldn’t fight anymore he settled back on the bed. He quickly spread her legs and lifted one to let it rest on his shoulder. When he nipped at her thigh he shook his head. “Not always. Just tonight.” With a tight hold on her leg, he languidly licked the apex of her thighs. Took his time with minuscule movements that made her squirm. She sighed, and her freed hands went to his gel encrusted hair. His neck rubbed against her thigh when he tilted into her touch and spoke again, “Unless you like it of course. We can use my rules more often.”

She pushed his smirk down. “Didn’t you say you were going to make me scream your name? All I hear is you talki-” She broke off with a groan.

His tongue went up and down in broad strokes before he dipped into her. She hummed. His breath of a laugh brought a shiver down her body and he did it again.

“You’re just so proud of yourself aren’t you?”

He kissed her thigh before saying, “Aren’t you proud of me? Playing right-hand man and Cupid?”

“Don’t forget mistress.”

The look in his eyes was positively mischievous when he growled, “How could I ever forget that role?”

* * *

 

“Taena was sneaking around. She’d left her husband in a public drunken nap state and she’d followed me all night while you dealt with Daenerys and the Freys.” She stroked the edge of his hair, the short black and gray locks damp with sweat.

He closed his eyes for a moment before he raised himself off of her chest to get off the bed. “So you wanted her to see you with Harry in the dining room all night. Wanted her to see you go to some private room.”

“I didn’t fuck him. Didn’t even give him a kiss.” Sansa watched him pour two glasses of water and grab the stash of white chocolate truffles from their place in one of her bookcases. She hid them somewhere new every time but he always found them. His sweet tooth was one of his only vices she’d found out. “She would have followed us wherever we went. Listened in on whatever we did.”

“Cersei’s woman through and through.”

“We still got her money though.”

He slipped back under the covers and passed her one of the glasses. “Greed’s one of those seven deadly sins I hear. You’re just full of it tonight aren’t you?”

“Says the one holding all of the truffles.”

“Ah but that’s gluttony,” he smirked and slowly bit into the white chocolate truffle. “I can’t help it. The $400 gold dust is so addictive.”

“Shut up,” she laughed. “I get _one_ lavish expenditure.”

He held out his half-eaten sweet, “How about half?”

Her eyes narrowed and he laughed at his joke, planning on giving her one of her own, but before he could pull his arm back she’d already wrapped her lips around it. Her teeth bit into the sweet and he let her have it.

“Would you like another?”

“No, half of one’s enough. Wouldn’t want to be greedy,” she said before she licked the small bit of melted chocolate and gold dust from his thumb.

“How does that taste?” he asked with a shallow breath.

She pulled him to her and let him taste it again for himself.

* * *

 

“Would you like me to frame it for you?” Petyr held up the _Page Six_ editorial with the giant version of her and Harry together. “I’m surprised it didn’t make the theatre arts section with that bit of Broadway acting.”

It wasn’t a bad photo. Their photographer had done a good job capturing the moment. There were no strands of hair out of place, no straps falling loosely on her shoulders, and she and Harry didn’t look half bad together. On a superficial level, it was perfect. Which was all it needed to be.

“Since when do you read anything other than section A?” Sansa replied when he placed it on her desk. “It’s not half bad though. What do you think?”

He shook his head at her goading. “I think North Korea and Russia are more imminent threats than we previously thought.”

Her smile dropped. The superficial business was done with. No more frills and fantasies. “Tell me more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmm it's been a while. But here I am.  
> This chapter goes out to Ophelia who's always telling me to update this fic. Hope it didn't disappoint. Two more to go for this one! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I've been watching too much of The West Wing so this came about because of that.  
> I needed a way to have Sansa ruling something with Petyr as her right hand man.


End file.
